At dusk, I felt the cold hands of harmattan,
Inside mom's kitchen, she told
a story of a man from town,
Was he really from town?,
Funny, the white man's a
Clown;

As children, we wanted African
tales,
Mom told a story, it penetrated our
Veins,
A Blackman sold his son for
a pipe,
Who does that?, He is a
Wicked type;

An African woman sold her
daughter for an ironware,
Leaving her husband without a
heir,
Africa is pregnant, are you
aware?,
The birds snatches her baby
before it touches the earth;

They conquered, but they
Forgot something vital,
They plundered, but they
Forgot something special,
Happiness, yes happiness,
I admire the cuteness